In Possession Of
by lynne-monstr
Summary: Two hunters, one hitter, and a highway gas station in the middle of nowhere. (Or, that time when Sam and Dean saw Eliot take down a bunch of guys carrying guns and drew the completely wrong conclusion.) Written for comment fic for the prompt: "For the last time, I'm not a demon." Genfic.


Eliot shifted on the balls of his feet, wiping away a trickle of blood from his mouth and doing a quick rundown of the rest of his injuries. Couple bruised ribs and a bullet graze across one arm was the worst of it; nothing that couldn't be dealt with later. Wouldn't even be the first time he fought with those particular injuries, so he set the pain aside and focused. Right now his priority was the two nutjobs that attacked him from freaking nowhere, yelling about witches and warlocks and the kind of crap he'd expect out of Hardison rather than a couple rough dudes in flannel.

The pair hadn't come away from the initial scuffle unscathed either; the tall one with the floppy hair was favoring his right leg and shorter one with the mouth was doing an admirable job of ignoring what had to be a dislocated shoulder. Despite the injuries, the two men had a glint of determination in their eyes that Eliot recognized.

Looked like his dance card wasn't freeing up any time soon.

"For the last time," Eliot gave one last attempt to end this mess. These guys made Parker look well-adjusted, and that was saying something. "I'm not a demon!" And damn if that wasn't a sentence he never thought would come out of his mouth, let alone several times in one day.

The shorter one flashed a grin at his friend. "Well would you look at that. Your hair twin's a big fat liar."

The other guy gave a scowl that could rival any of Eliot's. "Really? Hair twin? That's what you're getting out of this." The lines on his forehead deepened as he frowned. "Wait, you think my hair looks like _that_?"

Their banter continued, but Eliot didn't let himself be distracted by it, instead keeping a keen eye on the revolver wielded by the one with the bad attitude. He had to give the guy credit where it was due; he had skills. He stood close enough to be a real threat but just far enough out of arm's reach that Eliot couldn't make a move for the gun without overextending himself. Which might not have been a problem except for the overgrown giant next to him with the wicked looking knife, with its weird ass inscriptions that shined every time it caught the sun.

And though they might have been a whole ocean of crazy, damn could they fight. They'd trained together, that much was obvious from the way they shared space easy as breathing. What wasn't as obvious was where they got that training. Eliot could spot a Marine a mile off but mixed in with the familiar style was a kind of street brawling that was something else entirely. And if these guys were military, Eliot would eat his own necklace. What it added up to was that they were dangerous and he'd be deeply stupid to underestimate them.

The short one gave a bark of laughter, drawing Eliot from his thoughts, though his attention had never wavered from the threat in front of him. "Not a demon, sure buddy. We've heard that one before, haven't we, Sammy."

"Heard it a lot," the giant, whose name apparently was Sammy, agreed, hefting the knife.

Eliot adjusted his own stance in return. This whole thing was getting real old real fast. It'd been a long and crappy day and all he wanted was a good beer, a good lay, and maybe even a decent night's sleep. Instead he'd stumbled on some freaky ass cult of two that seemed to think he was the second coming of Satan, or whatever.

Where the hell was Hardison when he needed him? If anyone knew how to talk down a pair of fantasy deluded idiots, it would be him. Except Hardison was on other side of the country, he knew. Back home with Parker in Portland while Eliot stayed behind to wrap up some of the uglier loose ends from their most recent job. It wasn't supposed to involve a random mugging attempt at a middle-of-nowhere highway gas station and then being jumped by two lunatics who'd apparently never seen an unarmed guy take out four thugs with guns before.

"I'm gonna tell you whack jobs one last time before I get angry," Eliot replied. "There ain't no such thing as demons." Monsters, sure, he'd buy that. He'd seen enough, done enough, to know that there was true evil out there. And while it might be comforting to blame some supernatural mumbo jumbo bullshit, the hard truth was that humans had that covered all on their own. All he had to do was look in the mirror to see the truth of that.

Short-and-angry, as Eliot mentally dubbed him, shifted on his feet. "Bullshit. I saw you take those guys out. No human can move that fast."

And wasn't that just adorable. Eliot gave a sharp smile. "I can."

"Yeah, let's see how well you dodge this."

Eliot had been too focused on the speaker, he almost didn't move in time to dodge the splash of what had to be acid that Sammy-the-giant flung at him. He managed to throw himself out of the way in time to save his face from the stuff, but wasn't fast enough to keep the tail end from splashing against his bare forearm, just above the thick leather band he wore on his wrist.

He hissed in pain. Then he paused, confused. Because there wasn't any pain. Wasn't anything at all except wet and annoying.

"Come on, baby, show us those black eyes."

Eliot straightened, confused. He chanced a moment to look again at his arm. Whatever the clear liquid was, it wasn't acid. He gave it a quick sniff. Again, nothing. What the hell? He gathered what he _did_ know and squared off against his attackers, lifting his eyes to meet theirs. "First, you call me baby again and I'll punch you in the throat so hard you won't be speaking for a week. Second, what the hell, man. Black eyes? Is that—is that some kind of racial slur?" He took a measured step forward, ready to beat these jokers' asses for a whole new reason, now.

There must have been something in his face or his tone, because crazy-eyes with the gun suddenly raised his hands in peace. "What? Whoa dude." The uncharacteristic reaction made Eliot pause. "Our bad." Both men stared at Eliot's forearm and back up at him before glancing at each other. There was some sort of silent conversation happening there that he couldn't decipher.

Mentally, he increased the amount of time they'd been working together. Brothers maybe?

The Sammy guy lowered the knife and took a cautions step forward, suddenly looking more like a sheepish puppy than a grown killer. He pursed his lips, studying Eliot like he was seeing him for the first time. Finally he settled on a small smile, like he was laughing at a joke he had no intention of sharing with the rest of the class. "You really don't know what we're talking about, huh?"

It was clear Eliot had passed some kind of test but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what. "Ain't that what I've been telling you." Slowly, he lowered his fists. The menacing vibe he'd gotten from the two was practically gone and he was willing to play nice and match it. He had enough enemies without going out of his way to make more.

It was the right move, he realized a moment later, when both of them tucked away their weapons. "Um, we'll just…" Sammy gestured back towards the gas pumps, where one hell of a sweet ride was parked near Eliot's rental pickup truck. "We'll just be going now. We're really, really sorry about that." With a tug to his companion's arm and a muttered, "Let's go, Dean," they backed out of the empty lot until they were no more than a silhouette in the bright midday watched them go.

It wasn't the strangest encounter he'd ever had, but damn if it wasn't close. With a shrug of his shoulders, he tied up the still unconscious goons that had sparked this whole mess, called in an anonymous tip to the cops, and got the hell out of dodge. He'd had enough of this damn town.

As he started up his truck, he made a mental note to ask Hardison to look into any mention of a Sammy and Dean. Preferably in relation to a fetish for guns, knives, demons, and damn fine taste in automobiles. Might be interesting to see what shook loose.

In the meantime, Eliot had a plane to catch, and he couldn't wait to get back to Portland and the two people who were his preferred brand of crazy.


End file.
